


the first chapter (where you decide to stay)

by JoiningJoice



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Aang (Avatar), Dorks in Love, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mind you Katara was really in love with Aang, Minor Sokka/Toph if you squint, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Aang/Katara (Avatar), Post-Canon, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vaginal Sex, she just doesn't know what to do now that he's gone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25765939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoiningJoice/pseuds/JoiningJoice
Summary: (English translation ofthis)Zuko smiles at her; he winces, feeling her hand on his – never quite used to the gentleness of other people’s touch, less so to the warmth of her skin. « It is very important for me to be here. », she whispers. « Thank you. »Once again Zuko manages to catch a glimpse of the adventure-seeking, rebellious girl that challenged him and his beliefs, determined to find herself and her people’s power on her journey. « I should be the one thanking you. », he stutters clumsily. He feels terribly empty when Katara’s hand moves away from his – cold, all of a sudden: a type of coldness he has almost never felt before, freezing in guilt and regret.- - -Canon divergence: Aang dies, and Katara and Zuko are forced to face the weight of his loss on their already strained relationship. Adult!Gaang, pre!Korra
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	the first chapter (where you decide to stay)

**Author's Note:**

> _If I could grant you peace of mind, if you could let me inside your heart_   
>  _Oh, let me be a part of the narrative in the story they will write someday_   
>  _Let this moment be the first chapter where you decide to stay_   
>  _And I could be enough_

Zuko opens his eyes to a sky that’s filled with clouds, heavy with rain and covering the entirety of the Fire Nation. It’s the sudden change in the air that manages to wake him up – not the distant horns alerting the arrival of the ships in the harbor, not the messenger’s voice out of his room gently calling for “Lord Zuko”. The poor man is forced to jump back when he opens the door with a sudden, violent movement and runs out; Zuko notes mentally to apologize as soon as he’s given the chance to. For now, he’s far too lost in the excitement in his heart: he runs like a child in the palace corridors, in a manner unfit of the Fire Lord and even less of a man his age; and yet he feels light as a feather as he rushes down the stairs leading to the throne room, barely making it without any broken bones, his breath short and his chest swelling up and down as he tries to get back in shape.

The Southern Water Tribe committee reached the salon before him; a bunch of men all dressed in light blue and grey clothes, in which Zuko instinctively looks for the two most familiar and friendly faces he knows. Sokka is the first one he finds, and is the first one who finds him: it’s impossible not to, since he’s taller than most of his fellow soldiers. With the same childish joy that raised Zuko from his bed, Sokka marches in his direction, reaching for him and holding him in a comfortable, silent embrace. There’s no place for shame, etiquette or manners in the grip that smothers Zuko in the softest of ways, and no one dares to interrupt that humble show of reunion. Zuko clings onto Sokka’s back and lets out a sigh that tells him everything he’d never be able to express in words; it’s painful to move from that embrace, and it’s a solace to find him again by looking at his face.

« It feels unreal, being here again. », he murmurs. A hand still holds tight on his shoulder. « Look at you. You look great. » 

« I’m surviving. », he replies, not without hiding the guilt that that single sentence requires as a pawn for being spoken out loud. He goes back to looking at the group of newcomers as soon as he feels a tingling on the back of his head, a new gaze in his direction.

Katara is standing in the center of the room, halfway through those who accompanied her there in the first place and the one person she longed for. With her breath cut short and her lips tightened in an anxious, subtle line she holds herself back from closing the gap between them, hoping for Zuko to commit – which he does, respecting her restraint with a delicate hug, intense and heartfelt in a different way. Her hands slide under his arms and hold onto his back, her cheek pressing into his chest; Zuko sinks his face into her hair, intoxicated by her natural perfume – whose origin he was never able to tell apart, never able to identify, unique to Katara and Katara only.

« I’m so glad to see you again », he whispers, and it’s true: maybe the circumstances aren’t the happiest they could’ve hoped for – the carefree days are long behind them – but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the company of his old friends. Katara nods slowly, still held in his embrace.

« He would’ve loved to see you too. », she whispers – materializing him there with them, maybe unwillingly: Aang’s ghost, his presence never fading, never translucent enough to be ignored.

*

The day he had gotten the news his whole world had crumbled onto itself, the pillars of that Zuko had believed in moved by an earthquake whose vibrations he has yet to stop feeling shaking his body and mind. _“_ _Aang is dead_ _”_ : three simple words to sentence the end of an era for the masses, and that of a simple life for the lucky few who had actually known him. For the people of the four nations Aang had been a symbol of balance and restoration, but for him he had been much more than that: he had been a friend.

The boat crossing the Jang Hui river swings with the quiet movement of the waves, their lapping never loud enough to be annoying. Drops of water soak their clothes and Zuko smiles, seeing Katara raise her fingers to move the drops within her hands, making them join each other in a thin ring of water, then dividing them again into perfectly rounded, identical shapes.

« How are the kids doing? », he asks her. He expects her to hesitate, for a moment or two, to see a dark cloud dropping on her face, but she smiles amiably in his direction.

« They’re doing fine. », she replies. The water around her fingers stream back to the river, flowing home. « Bumi has enough energy in his body for both his younger sister and brother. Kya is very mature, for her age. »

« Reminds me of someone. », Sokka intrudes, without averting his gaze from the horizon, the shadow of a smile on his voice mirroring the one raising Zuko’s lips.

« It was Tenzin’s fifth birthday just a month ago. », she finishes, stretching her back to sit straight, a hand resting on the boat’s parapet. As she talks, she avoids Zuko’s eyes, even if her voice doesn’t crack once. « He’s his father’ spitting image. I’m glad Aang could see his Airbending manifest before he left us. » 

The ghost sits within them, tilting the boat in his direction. The last word has multiple meanings, and Zuko is able to read them all in Katara’s empty expression: she’s talking about her family, about the small group of people there with her and, in a manner that’s so typical to her, she’s refusing to make herself the only victim of that pain. Two years of loneliness weren’t able to corrupt her sweet and motherly features, they only hardened them. Smiles grace her face rarely, these days – but she’s still Katara, harsher and stiffer with herself more than with others. It’s been more than twenty years since they first met, yet Zuko can still feel the girl who helped him found himself within her, buried somewhere with his husband.

Sokka manages to divert his mind from those thoughts, bringing him back to their grim reality with a simple question. « When were they last seen? ». In posing that question he bends towards him, closer to the scroll Zuko is holding in his nervous hands. When Katara does the same, Zuko unrolls the map and points at a specific place in Jang Hui.

« I sent my men to verify the witnesses’ testimonies. A woman and a child arrived in Jang Hui’s outskirts and booked a room at the Blue Spirit’s inn. They disappeared the morning after, presumably going North-East. », he explains, pointing to the alleged direction with his finger. A shadow hovers over his face. « The child was last seen using waterbending while she played with some local kids. »

« Why would they run away? », Sokka ponders, resting his chin on his closed fist. « This is a peaceful town. »

Zuko rolls back the map onto itself. « Perhaps they didn’t know, or maybe they have a solid reason not to trust strangers. », he suggests. He stares at Katara, her expression now dark and thoughtful. « I can’t hope to erase a hundred years of persecution and terror in the span of one night, or a couple of decades. And if this woman really did spend the last her last years on the run… »

He waits for Katara to look back at him, glad to find support where he needs it the most, where he’s most afraid to lose it. « I’ll talk to her. », she confirms, nodding. « You had the right idea: it makes a lot more sense to send me and Sokka looking for her than it does for a bunch of soldiers that might scare her off. I hope she comes to her sense and realizes she has no reason to be afraid. »

Zuko smiles at her; he winces, feeling her hand on his – never quite used to the gentleness of other people’s touch, less so to the warmth of her skin. 

« It is very important for me to be here. », she whispers. « Thank you. »

Once again Zuko manages to catch a glimpse of the adventure-seeking, rebellious girl that challenged him and his beliefs, determined to find herself and her people’s power on her journey. « I should be the one thanking you. », he stutters clumsily. He feels terribly empty when Katara’s hand moves away from his – cold, all of a sudden: a type of coldness he has almost never felt before, freezing in guilt and regret.

*

Five days later the immaculate map Zuko brought with him is covered in annotations in Katara’s thin writing – an insane number of notes on the road they should take, the places they already searched in in the harbor and the physical description of the two water tribe members, but neither mother nor daughter are anywhere to be seen. Katara stares at that piece of paper as if it’s mocking her, scanning the coast and looking for any crevice or nook they might have missed.

« They can’t have made it that far. », she murmurs, from time to time. Zuko has lost track of the times he’s heard her say that; he looks for Sokka’s support as he prepares to cook a soup on their campfire, and he finds it in his knowing, resigned eyes. When he talks to her, his tone is exactly what Zuko imagines a condescending older brother would sound like.

« You should rest and eat something, or you won’t be able to get up tomorrow. », he says. He lets the ladle he’s holding rest into the pan to get closer to her, to run his fingers through her hair; Katara doesn’t even bother stopping him, doesn’t retreat from that touch. She rests passively as Sokka unties a band from his wrist to tie her hair up. « You look like a ghost. Put that damn map away. »

When she finally raises her graze from the map to his brother’s face her eyes have an almost manic light behind them; she’s looking for his permission to take a break without feeling guilty. « But I _have_ to found them, Sokka. », she complains, dragging each word; she barely protests when Sokka takes the map from her hands and places it down, mouth pouting and eyes stuck on the terrain.

Zuko watches them silently, well aware that he can’t interfere with a moment so intimate and dear. He’s fascinated by this side of Katara, the one that acts like a little sister would: it’s something he has never experienced in his life, and at this point he’s surrendered himself to the idea that he never will. « It’s too late in the evening to worry about it, anyway. We’ll research the area again tomorrow, in the morning. And you know it’s better to think of a good plan on a full stomach, right? », he asks her, now that she’s closer; she nods absentmindedly, polite enough to dignify him with an answer. She accepts with as much indifference the bowl of soup Sokka forces into her hands, her gaze now stuck to the flickering campfire flames kept alive by Zuko’s breath.

« I can’t stop thinking about my mother. », she finally admits. « About what she would have done, had she found herself in this kind of situation. »

The implications of such a scenery materialize above their heads in the shape of a grey cloud, dimming the light of the clearing they’re camping in. Zuko barely hears Katara’s apology and Sokka reassuring her that it’s alright; he’s lost in that idea, tormented by the perfectly clear image of Katara – so young he can barely picture her – running away from his father’ soldiers. He would’ve been disgusted by that thought, once – now that he has children he’s terrified, anxious. He can comprehend perfectly Katara’s fear, tormented by a past she barely escaped and a future she and few others prevented from being a reality. 

The rest of the evening is spent in silence, preceding the sleep that wins them over immediately after dinner. Zuko dreams of Sokka’s voice, comforting Katara; at dawn he dreams the screech of a messenger hawk. He opens his tired eyes enough to see Sokka get up and raise his arm for the bird to land, a red envelope tied to its claw; then he falls asleep, and when he opens them again the sun is floating above the horizon’s line and Sokka is nowhere to be seen.

Katara is already up, standing against a tree at the clearing’s edge. Zuko gets up, stunned by the sudden awakening, walks till he’s close enough to see that she’s shivering.

« A messenger hawk from Toph. », she explains, even if Zuko has yet to ask. « I couldn’t force Sokka to stay. Couldn’t forgive myself if he had missed his daughter’s birth. »

Zuko nods even if she can’t see him. Her profile is sharp against the grey water and sky – her shoulders high and rigid, her fingers pressing on her own arms. She’s holding herself up, unable to ask for comfort from others. Her hair is untied once again, the tie holding them up gone with its rightful owner. In looking at her marble silhouette Zuko slowly raises his hand, as he would with a wounded animal; then, just before he can touch her, she turns around and walks past him without even acknowledging his presence – maybe ignoring him voluntarily. « Let’s get back to research. », she mutters through her teeth. 

Zuko manages to get a glimpse of tear-filled eyes, but he refuses to bring it up.

*

Going back to the chaos and humidity of Jang Hui, after a week of solitude, puts him on the edge – a feeling resonating far too much with Katara’s emotional state. She has been even more resolute and strict since Sokka left, and Zuko had to put all his reasoning abilities into motion to tell her to go back, and even more to convince her to stay.

« Our chance to find that woman and her kid gets thinner with each minute we waste in this place. », she tells him. The stink of fish is unbearable, down there, each step on the wooden bridges unstable; Zuko tries his best to remain focused, to understand her anguish. It’s something he has been practicing for years.

« Each minute we spend in that forest just makes our attempts at restricting the area of research more complicated. », he rationalizes. The grim light coming from the Blue Spirit paints dark shadows on Katara’s tense wrinkles; the thought of caressing her cheek to smooth out those lines catches him off guard, but he’s reasonable enough to stop his hand mid-air and instead redirect it on her shoulder, his hold tight. « They booked a room at this place before disappearing. We can stay for the night, ask for information, rest in a comfortable bed for once, eat something warm. You were the one that taught me how wrong it is to throw yourself into situations without a second thought, Katara. »

She freezes, his sentence striking a chord; Zuko looks at her with the gentlest, most pleading look he has to offer in his eyes. « Just one night. », she grants him, after a thoughtful silence. « We’re going back to the shore tomorrow at dawn. »

« In the afternoon. », he replies. She has already walked past him, straight to the inn’s door; the sound of bystanders eats her reply, and she doesn’t bother repeating herself. They walk towards the innkeeper, a big woman shucking turtle-crab shells with a sharp knife, deaf to her customer’s buzz.

Zuko draws her attention with a polite cough; he explains their situation to her – her face shines as she realizes who is standing in front of her, and he tries his best to quell her enthusiasm and zeal without being rude – and books two separate rooms. During their brief exchange Katara looks at the other costumers anxiously, looking for a familiar face – features akin to a Water Tribe member, maybe – in the modest crowd. She is stiff when Zuko puts his hand back on her shoulder.

« There, all settled. », he reassures. He looks for the courage he needs, for a moment, then lets his hand slide along her arm, until he can finally, gently hold her hand. She doesn’t pull back, just looks at that light touch of his without expressing a single emotion. « Come, let’s get something to eat. Sit down with me and let’s talk about something other than this absurd situation. »

And they do exactly that, reluctantly at first and then with far more ease. Katara is the one who talks for the most part, even with her mouth is full of food – her good manners left somewhere with her identity of mother, teacher, role model – and beer, which Zuko tries to get from her hands laughing. She talks about Bumi and Kya, how Tenzin is different from his brothers and how worried she is for him; she talks about Toph, and Sokka, inquires about Izumi, smiles when Zuko shows her a picture of her he always brings with him. She doesn’t talk about Aang, but he’s there – in every comma between the end of a sentence and the start of the next, in each long pause, in every look she gives to the dark sky out of the closest window. The voices in the inn become fainter as the night goes on; theirs never do.

« Tell me of the Southern Pole. », Zuko blabbers, hours later, his cheek pressed against the table and locks of dark hair stuck on his forehead in the least royal manner possible. « I haven’t seen it in more than ten years. Oh, the dawn in that sky... »

« Same dawn you get up here. », Katara giggles. « It’s just easier to see because there’s no factory smog down there, I guess. »

She still holds herself in a dignified manner, a mocking smile on her lips and her chin resting on one hand; the other slides towards the closest glass, the index caressing its edge slowly, in a hypnotic movement. Zuko hardly manages to avert his eyes. 

« We both know that’s a lie. », he replies, avoiding looking directly in her eyes. « But don’t worry, I’ll see it again soon. »

She stops her movement abruptly. « What do you mean? »

« I should come to the South with you. », he explains, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to shut up. He barely manages to sit straighter. « Have to make sure that you’re doing fine. »

« I am doing fine, Zuko. »

« That’s another lie. »

Any sign of drunken sweetness vanishes from Katara’s face. « What are you talking about? You’ve drank too much. »

« I drank exactly what you did. And I’ve listened to you chatter all night, about your kids and your worries. », he explains, each word coming out sluggishly thanks to his tipsy, heavy tongue, each sentence hard to compose. He finally finds his composure by sitting straight, fists resting against the wood table. « Not only that: I’ve been looking at you, in the past few days. You’re obsessed with finding this woman, Katara, as you were about avenging your mother. »

Her silence scares him more than any reply he could get from her, but still isn’t scary enough to shut him up. « I’m coming with you whether you like it or not. It’s what Aang would’ve wanted anyway. » 

He realizes his mistake a moment too late. Katara’s voice is chilling, stiff; doesn’t leave room for replies. « You have no idea what Aang would’ve wanted. », she hisses. « And you have no idea what _I_ want. » 

The chair she’s sitting on screeches against the wooden pavement when Katara abruptly gets up and leaves, quick to disappear from Zuko’s sight. His eyes wander stupidly between the empty glasses and plates; when he finally gets up to chase her, she’s already on the stairs to the upper floor.

« Katara, I’m sorry! », he yells. On a physical level there’s only a few meters between them, but Zuko has rarely felt her so hard to reach; it’s during that pathetic chase that he realizes why he’s trying so hard to connect with her, but he resorts to hide that sudden realization to himself. When he finally manages to grab her arm they’re already on the upper floor of the inn and she frees herself from his touch, her face stiff and hateful; Zuko walks back, scared by the resemblance with her younger self.

« I said some stupid stuff I don’t really believe, I swear. », he whispers. « Let me apologize. You are... you should decide what you want to do with your life, you are more than capable of making the right choice, always have been. I won’t interfere anymore. »

« Do you really think that? »

Zuko raises his chin. On Katara’s face he doesn’t find teary eyes, nor rage-filled ones, but something far more painful: tranquil resignation. She reiterates: « Do you really think I’ve always made the right choice? »

Her question feels so rhetoric that it doesn’t even need a reply, but Zuko nods anyway. Her chest swells, rigid, as if she’s barely holding in something far too big and strong to be held back.

« I used to think that the right choice was supposed to be the one that made you happy. Always have. », she keeps going, exhaling that pain in her chest. « But if that’s the case, then why do I feel so sad whenever you’re with me? »

Zuko holds his breath. « What do you mean? »

But instead of a spoken reply what he gets is Katara’s hand on his shoulder; she pushes him back, until his back is pressed against the wall, until he feels her lips against his. He replies with a sigh – Katara’s name distorted by the sweetness of her mouth, that perfume he’s obsessed with becoming a nightmare suffocating his surroundings. Sin and guilt hold back his wrist, they make them heavier, as he raises his hands and sinks his fingers in her hair, presses against her back to feel her whole body against his and reassure himself that he’s not dreaming; Katara’s hands move from his shoulders – she’s pressing against the wall with her whole being, now – and move towards his chest, heavy with need on light clothes that Zuko hates to be dressed in, in that moment. He opens his eyes, needing to see her, to paint a picture of Katara like that, and she does the same – always sensible to every movement and change around her. Her blue eyes stare at him with fear, the only expression of that feeling in a body that is trying his best to deny its existence with every action, and kiss, and movement. Her fingers lightly trace the shape of his scar – melancholic, remorsefully.

« Zuko… », she sighs; a sharp sound coming from above prevents her from saying anything else, though, forces them both to look up. In the dim light of the lanterns Zuko barely manages to trace the faint shape of a hatch above their heads; Katara is quicker to do so, and far more reactive: she raises her arms above her, forcing the water in the flask hanging from her hips to follow her movement and break into the wooden in the span of a moment. There’s a horrified scream, then a cry for help: a kid’s face appears from the gap Katara’s waterbending generated into the roof, pale and shivering.

Her complexion is similar to Katara’s, her eyes the same shade of blue. In her arms she holds a white bear plush that looks old and worn-out. The water Katara sent in her direction floats into an invisible bubble, its movement slow and hypnotic – and Zuko realizes that it’s the child’s doing, not Katara, that bends the water in that imprecise shape.

« We found her. », she sentences. Her breath is short and she doesn’t dare look in his direction, her eyes fixed on the poor kid terrified face. Zuko can still feel the soft, overbearing sensation of her lips against his.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of a two-part story I wrote as a commission. It got some attention (mostly because the person commissioning me [made art of it and IT. IS. AMAZING](https://twitter.com/Kumiho_5/status/1290617080837005312).) so I decided to try my best and translate it!  
> Second part will be mostly porn, I'll try to translate it as soon as possible!  
> Thanks for reading, bye!


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